


5 minutes.

by firehearte



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boyfriends, M/M, a considerable amount of cursing i think sorry, absolutely smitten in love boyfriends, one giant self insert whoops, tbf though racetrack higgins has a filthy mouth if you know what i mEAN, this story is pure though (mostly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firehearte/pseuds/firehearte
Summary: Spot and Race spend a stolen 5 minutes together. Long distance is a bitch.





	5 minutes.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracetrackhiggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracetrackhiggins/gifts).
  * Inspired by [5 minutes.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111875) by [gracetrackhiggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracetrackhiggins/pseuds/gracetrackhiggins). 



> A continuation of Grace's story '5 minutes,' posted a few months ago. I promised her Race's POV and, four months later, here it is. Go check out her story first for Spot's POV!

_Race: like_

_Race: we could pull it off_

_Race: come here_

_Spotty: want me to? It’s not like it’s far_

_Race: GOD YES PLEASE_

_Spotty: Putting on shoes_

“Anthony! Phone away.”

Race mumbles an apology and bites his lip to keep from smiling as he types out a quick response.

_Race: see you soon :,))))_

Struggling to keep a straight face, Race looks up at his mother across the dinner table, and then out at the group of 20 or so people seated at the long table, biding his time. He’d been dragged to his cousin’s birthday party against his will, forced to spend a night mingling with relatives who ask him questions like _“When is a nice young boy like you gonna find a pretty girl to lock you down?”_ and _“Who’s gotcha smilin’ at your phone? Is it a little lady friend?”_ and _“Are you sure you don’t have a special someone?”_

That _someone_ , he knows, is female in everyone’s mind. He can’t quite summon the courage to tell them that yes, in fact, he _does_ have a special someone. And that someone is a boy, 5’4” of solid muscle, very decidedly male in every possible way. His parents know, although they may as well be in the dark for all the interest they show in his relationship. That’s fine by him. Easier, less awkward.

It makes it easier to craft the lie straight to his mother’s face, if anything. When he figures Spot’s less than two minutes away, he makes his move.

“Uh, Mom?” he asks, keeping his voice faint. “I feel really claustrophobic down here, I think I might be having a panic attack,” he says, swallowing for emphasis and letting his hands shake just noticeably enough to his ever-perceptive mother in order to draw her attention from his face. “Is it okay if I run to the bathroom, or go outside for some fresh air?”

“Oh, honey, of course,” his mom says immediately, worry lining her face. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No!” he insists, a little too loudly. “I uh, I think I might throw up, I’d rather do that alone, haha uhhh see you soon bye.”

Race slips easily out the door of the private dining room. The bathroom is right next to the stairs, and he sprints up them two at a time. His phone dings and he looks down to see the one word that makes his heart leap into his throat.

_Spotty: outside_

Race is pretty sure he looks like an asshole weaving through the maze of tables to make it to the side door of the restaurant and into the lobby of the hotel. For a second he panics, thinking maybe he should grab one of the peppermints on the concierge’s desk, and then he realizes that a) he’s wasting precious time, and b) Spot couldn’t care less if he’s minty fucking fresh.

He runs out the front door of the hotel and immediately regrets his cover story, which prevented him bringing his winter jacket with him into the frigid cold of winter. A second later, he turns to look to his left and sees his boyfriend, leaning against the brick wall of the hotel, looking handsome as ever in his winter coat zipped all the way up, scarf wrapped around his neck, cheeks bright pink from the wind. His smile is ridiculously, stupidly big as he stares at Spot - Spot, here, on the street corner of the restaurant that _just so happened_ to be ten minutes from his apartment.

Another second later and he’s practically slamming into Spot, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him close, grip crushing as he pours all of his love and joy into the first hug he’s gotten to share with Spot in nearly a month. Spot’s arms are strong and sure around him, and he relaxes immediately into his familiar grip.

“I love you,” Race whispers into Spot’s ear, still not ready to let him go.

Spot grins at him, unbridled, adorable gap in his teeth that Race loves so much on full display. He eases Race back and pulls away to look into his eyes when he tells him, “I love you too.”

Race doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the way Spot tells him he loves him - making sure he has direct eye contact, making sure Race _knows it_ every time he tells him how he feels. Taking Spot’s hand, he steers him around the corner of the building to where they’ll have more privacy and rests a hand on Spot’s zipper, pulling him in firmly for another kiss as he leans back against the side of the building. Spot smiles against him and wraps his arms around him. Race laughs softy, pressing his forehead against Spot’s.

“I missed you so much,” Race sighs. Paranoia gets the best of him for a split second and he anxiously looks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone. Relieved to see none of his family members have caught him (so far), he turns his attention back on Spot. “I have five minutes.”

Spot says nothing, instead brushing his thumb gently over Race’s cheekbone. Race feels a thrill rush through him - Spot can say so much with tiny actions instead of words, something that he noticed when they first started dating, something that's kept him hanging on every action since, forever noticing how easily Spot conveys his love through action, even when words are difficult. He smiles big at his boyfriend, and Spot smiles right back.

“You’re so cold,” Race whispers, changing the subject. “C’mere,” he insists, leaning down to kiss his nose gently.

“Mmm, warm me up,” Spot whispers back, sliding his hands under Race’s blazer to rest on the small of his back. “You’re so hot.”

“Yeah?” Race asks between kisses, biting slowly at Spot’s lower lip just the way he knows he likes.

“God, yeah,” Spot moans quietly, moving his right hand to cup Race’s neck and kisses him hard, forcing Race’s mouth open easily as he makes way for Spot’s tongue. “This suit is so fucking sexy, baby.”

Race smiles against Spot’s kiss. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says, again. _Pathetic,_ he thinks, _can’t you think of literally anything else to say?_

“I’ve missed you too,” Spot replies, kissing his cheek gently. “This was so stupid. What’d you even tell your family?”

Race grins cheekily at him. “I faked an anxiety attack so I could ‘go outside and get air.’ I’m supposed to be having a meltdown right now.”

Spot’s eyes glint and he pulls him in for another kiss, this one less silly and more urgent. “Am I curin’ your anxiety?” he asks, lips turned up at the corner in the smirk that Race knows and loves. Race nods, licking his lips as he blushes under his boyfriend’s searing gaze.

“Absolutely cured,” he assures him. “Five minutes with you is all I need.”

Spot kisses him again. “God, I love you,” he murmurs between kisses pressed to Race’s lips, jaw, neck. “I’m so glad we did this.”

Race grins and runs his hands through Spot’s hair, tilting his head up so he can kiss his boyfriend as eagerly as he wants, letting their last few minutes together be spent with their lips doing the talking. They’ve always been good at this - communicating without words came months before they were ready or able to acknowledge the feelings behind their actions. And, as good as they’ve gotten about being vocal about how stupidly, wildly crazy in love they are, there’s something comforting about knowing exactly what it means when Spot kisses him hard, soft, bites his lip, marks his neck up. He knows him, and he lets the safety and joy of being 100% secure in that fact outweigh how obnoxious they must seem to anybody passing by right now.

He doesn’t care. He’s in love. Fuck everybody else.

Race eventually pulls away, knowing he’s pushing it with time. “I’m so happy,” he says (needlessly, absolutely needlessly, as though Spot doesn’t know, _come on_ ), “I’m so in love with you.”

Spot nods and smiles at him, kissing him gently. “I’m in love with you too.”

Race groans as he feels his phone buzz in his pocket, pulling his boyfriend in for a few more seconds of frenzied kisses before he has to say goodbye again.

“Okay,” he sighs heavily, “I gotta go. My mom just texted me.”

Spot makes a noise of dissent, grabbing Race by the lapels of his blazer and giving him a firm kiss that makes Race's head spin. Spot pulls back and smirks at Race’s lust-filled eyes.

“Go on,” he prompts. “Love you.”

Race smiles, even as he rolls his eyes, and adjusts his jacket. “Love you too.”

Race lets himself have one last second to soak in Spot’s presence, and then turns on his heel, hands in his pockets, reveling in the certainty that Spot’s eyes are _definitely_ on his ass as he saunters back inside the hotel.

It’s with concerted effort that he contorts his shit-eating grin into a grimace as he hurries back down the stairs and veers right to the bathroom, splashing some water on his face and trying desperately to look upset, sick, uncomfortable, anything but deliriously happy and in love.

Not a second too soon, because a minute later his mom is knocking at the door of the bathroom.

“Race, honey? You okay in there?”

Race takes a breath and squares his shoulders. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just sick, I think. I’ll be out in a sec!”

“Okay! Hurry back, they want to cut the cake.”

“Got it!”

Race pulls out his phone and quickly types out another text to Spot.

_Race: i was supposed to look flustered and upset instead I’m just stupidly happy and have a boner_

_Race: tonight is the night i get disowned for getting hard in a fancy restaurant mayhaps????_

_Race: ykw i dont even care I’m so madly in love with you._

_Race: that was perfect._

Pocketing his phone, he hurries back to the private dining room his family had rented out, smoothing his suit as he takes his seat. Almost immediately, his phone buzzes, and he can’t resist sneaking it halfway out his pocket to check his notifications.

_Spotty: literally so perfect. I’m so glad we did that._

_Spotty: I’m so in love with you too baby._

Race licks his lips to hide his smile as he pockets his phone again. He’ll answer Spot when he can - he knows Spot already knows what his response will be. Stupid, endless love.

God, he's so fucking whipped.

**Author's Note:**

> real! gentle! bois!!!!
> 
> love you gracie, this is for you


End file.
